


A Fool's Shrine

by Korpuskat



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: DFAB but gender neutral reader, Dirty Talk, F/M, Not a pregnancy fic, Other, Sandor Has Issues, Size Difference, Size Kink, Size Queen Reader, Starts Mid Season 2, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Whiskey Dick, vaginal orgasm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-02-27 00:05:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18727603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Korpuskat/pseuds/Korpuskat
Summary: Drunkenly, you decide on seducing Sandor Clegane. There might be more repercussions than your one night together.





	1. In Vino Veritas

He had hesitated for only a moment. As soon as he realized you were serious, he closed the door behind him. He didn't move and, for a moment, you were alone with the Hound. 

His dark gaze held you, kept you trembling by the bedside as he began undoing the straps to each piece of armor he wore. The first gauntlet came off, dropping it onto a table in the corner of his room. Awkward though it was to get armor off without a squire, he had done this himself for years. Soon enough, his thick, scarred fingers made quick work of the other gauntlet, then the strap across his chest. The metal clinked as he dropped these onto the first gauntlet. 

The wine had gotten you into this, you were sure. You had wanted this- always been curious about the true nature of the beastly man at the King's side. But the reds were squarely responsible for your nearly fearless act of sitting at the Hound’s table and daring to speak with him. But now with him before you in your tiny bed chambers, all tall and broad-shouldered, even as he was taking off his pauldrons, you felt tiny in comparison. And as terrifying as it was to have one of the most feared men in King's Landing staring you down with lust-blown eyes, the trembling in your hands was not entirely of fear.

His chain mail finally came off, and stripped down to the simple clothes that protected himself from the cold metal of his armor, you could almost think he was like any other man you could've bedded.

He moved towards you, closing the meager distance with only two steps, trapping you between the wall, the bed, and his own massive frame. 

He teetered, the wine having won over for a moment- but he's still _fast,_ catching you by one shoulder and spinning you to face away from him- catching you around your waist again before you fell. You stumbled, however, and leaned hard against his thick arms- and found him pressed up against you. His front was huge and warm, dwarfing your tiny body- his chin entirely clearing the top of your head. 

His left hand slid up from your waist, cupping one breast. Even with your tunic and small clothes between you. surprisingly deft fingers found your nipple with ease, pinching and rolling the tender flesh until you were pressing your chest into his hand. Against any better judgement, you leaned back against him, let your head fall back against his chest. He laughed under his breath, a rasping noise just over your ear.

As he pinched your nipple tighter, you gasped and pushed your hips back, rolling against the front of his trousers. His pinch turned painful- made you cry out and flinch further against his chest. His fingers released your tender breast, only gently massaging once more, though if he was apologizing with his touch, you weren't sure.

"Damn wine," He slurred. "Just a moment, _lover."_

The hand on your chest slid up to your throat- his huge fingers meeting easily at the nape of your neck. You stilled, but couldn't deny the way his power over you made the heat between your legs flair. His grip, though not positioned to choke you, still made you tremble- you'd seen the Hound fight enough to know he could break your neck without even trying.

His other hand yanked open the ties to your trousers and slipped beneath the cloth. The calloused pads of his fingers wasted no time in fumbling, desperate touches- two fingers caressing over the top of your clit and sliding down to find the source of your wet heat. He shuddered behind you, his hot breath sliding over your ear. 

Your hips shook, begging silently for him to touch you harder- but he only toyed with you. The wide tips of his fingers gliding through your arousal, skating along each fold, circling your sex but never quite dipping in, never quite touching your clit again, exploring over your delicate skin. You whined, chased his touch- strained against the hand on your throat. 

Warm lips touched the shell of your ear and Sandor's dark voice filled your head. "Tell me what you want."

You shivered, wet your lips. "You already know."

He growled deep in his chest, the hand around your throat tightening. "Don't test me. Tell me what you want," The hand in your pants stilled, began to withdraw. "Or, I could leave you like this." 

You grabbed his wrist. Though you knew he could shake you off with ease, he allowed you this. Even with his threat looming, you struggled to find the words. "Please," Drink and your arousal had already painted your cheeks pink, but shame made them burn. "Fill me."

One thick finger slipped inside; you nearly collapsed against him, his strong arms once more being the only thing keeping you standing. He laughed again, "See how easy that was?" 

Before you could even catch your breath, Sandor withdrew his finger- that alone making you thrash in his grasp- before returning with a second finger, pushing the wide digits into you, seeking out your depths with abandon. Your cunt clenched hard around him, letting you feel each ridge of his callouses, the exact way they dragged down your walls as he began to fuck you with them.

Your mouth hung open, soundless- and all at once, you writhed against him, eyes pinched tight and crying out- the sustained whine of your desperation for the Hound's rough touch. 

His hot breath danced down your neck. "You sound like a _whore,_ lover." He twisted his fingers, curled them forward inside you, lightning sparking up your spine.

"Oh, _gods!"_

"No, there's no gods here." He murmured, quieter now. The heat of your cunt entrancing him, drawing him further in. He watched you, the heaving of your chest and how your body followed his lead like water following the stream. Your mouth hanging slack in a small _o_ , the gentlest pleading whines he'd ever heard slipping from your lips like offerings. 

If he were a better man, he might just bring you to ecstasy right there- if only to see how your body would dance for his touch. But he was not even a good man and the power of the wine was finally releasing its hold. Despite your desperate pleas, he slipped his hand out of your trousers. 

Your eyes opened, nearly in tears for how much you wanted him. The lust making your mind too hazy to do much else, you let him guide you. The Hound sat atop your bed, slouched against the stone wall. He nearly lifted you onto the bed himself, this time sitting you in his wide lap. 

Together, you managed to peel off your pants and small clothes, only your tunic remaining. With one hand, he held you up against his chest, sitting on his hard stomach- and with the other, he tugged open the bindings to his own trousers. And, _oh._ The Hound was not a small man, by any stretch of the imagination; his cock was just as impressive, veined and pink, bobbing under its own weight.

And though you felt your body ache with desire, fear slipped over your mind once more. If the Hound knew, or cared, he didn't show it. "It's easier like this," He says as his hands grabbed your hips, fingertips digging into your skin as he lifted you. 

The head of his shaft slipped across your sex, coming away glistening. The round head pressed against your tight entrance, and even after his thick fingers, you weren't entirely ready for him. You hesitated on how to address him- but that was all it took. "Hou- _oh,"_ He pressed harder, the first grunt of pleasure catching in his throat- and a moan ripped free from yours as he forced himself in. 

You went limp in his arms, leaning back against his wide chest- too focused on the aching pleasure in your cunt to hear his stuttering breaths. He slid you down further- and this time grabbed one of your lifeless hands and pressed it to your belly. By the gods, you could feel each inch he moved further, could map out exactly where he was so deep inside. So slow and careful, burying his cock into you. After an eternity, the backs of your thighs pressed against the tops of his. 

He laughed again- breathier, looser than before. He was barely keeping himself together. "I didn't think you could take it," His own hand leaving your hips and the soft yellow beginnings of bruises- to stroke over your abdomen, joining your hand there. "but look at you..." Your hand followed his, mindlessly echoing what he asked. 

The one hand remaining on your hips is all it takes for him to lift you- just enough- until you're shaken from your stupor. Your hand catches his, your nails biting into the flesh of his hand. Tears well in your eyes as he lowers you again, the same stretch burning at your walls as you twitch, grind down with what little leverage you have. 

He fucked you slow. Feeling his massive cock slide into you over and over, his hands keeping you still- one forcing you to follow his own pace, and the other pressed to your belly, holding down and making you feel every single motion... Your mind just there enough to wonder if his dragging pace was a mercy or a torment.

With your broken voice, you whispered, "Please," Your moan punctuating how he lowered you down again, his cock pushing against your cervix. "I need it." 

He sighed, his right hand settling back at your hips. His scarred, mottled cheek brushed over the top of your head, before he was ducking down and pressing his lips against your ear. "Greedy." He admonished playfully. The heat of his breath and in his voice made you shiver atop him.

His fingers dug into the meat of your thighs again, hefting you just barely off him. His teeth found the side of your neck, digging in just below your earlobe. He snapped his hips up; the warningless assault ripped a noise from your throat. But it didn't stop. His thrusts are fast and hard, making your cunt yield to his cock over and over, making your breasts bounce and Sandor's dark hair sway in the corner of your eye.

He's changing you, you thought, shaping your body around his. The power behind each drive of his hips, the sharp catch of his canine against your throat, how each of his fingers was anchored into your flesh, leaving bruises like fingerprints, the harsh grunts with each of his movements. 

His teeth slipped off your throat, and you could definitely feel it, the warm wetness of blood running down your neck, sticky on his lips. He was panting, groans coming in sync with each thrust. You lost yourself to the sensations- let the pressure in your abdomen fill with each pounding of his cock, with each stuttered moan cut off in the Hound's mouth. 

The Hound's voice had dropped even lower, barely audible above the blood rushing in your ears. All breathy and wild, "Going to cum from just my cock, lover?"

You whined, pressed your head back against his shoulder. It was nearly unthinkable, but by the gods, you couldn't help it. "Yes!" 

"Call my name, my real name," He huffed, pressed his forehead to your shoulder, "I want to hear you." 

You nodded, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes again. You'd never be the same, you knew it. One harder thrust and it was all over- you cried out, "S-Sandor, _ah!"_ He held you, kept fucking you, dragging your pleasure out longer and longer, until you were nearly begging him to stop-- and finally, you felt his breath catch, his pace turning erratic, until he was digging his teeth into your shoulder, holding on by tooth and nail as his cock twitched deep inside your tender cunt.

His hold on your thighs loosened, making you whine again as you slid further down his cock. But his hands remained on you, even as he shook and gasped through his teeth. 

You lay like that for a while, each catching your breath. You dared not try to climb off the Hound yourself- your arms were still too weak and uncontrollable. But he didn't seem to mind your weight on his chest, though his fingers still twitched and stroked at your skin. You resigned yourself to this- closing your eyes and turning towards Sandor's scarred face.

Slowly, his breathing leveled, the idle touching of his fingertips stilled. He swept his pitted face against your head once more, like a real lover. He sighed, low and quiet against your scalp, before curling his fingers back into the darkening bruises along your legs. You whimpered then, grabbed at his wrists for support- and hissed as he lifted you, his softening cock still dragging along your sore and abused walls. 

His cum slid freely down the cleft of your ass, dribbling weakly back onto his cock. He sat you on your bed next to him; the dip caused by his weight made you roll towards him, pressed up against his side. You almost thought you had imagined how big he was, some lust-driven fantasy you'd made up. But no, his massive hands were rethreading his trousers, the frame of your bed creaking dangerously as he stood. 

You watched, silent, as the Hound redressed. He only looked away from you, his dark hair obscuring his face. As much as you wanted to reach out and touch him, you didn't have the words. He was the King's personal guard; you weren't important to him. So you watched him put on each piece of armor.

He hesitated for only a moment, before he left your chambers.


	2. Temet Nosce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You laid with the Hound, and now something has gone horribly wrong. You can't _finish_ any more.

It had only taken you a week before you realized you had been right.

You chewed your lip mercilessly, spending another night in the same dark tavern, ignoring the lingering gazes of strangers, the lusty eyes of men. The curious looks from the tavern girls who had seen you that night, seen you leave with the great and feared Hound. They and their judging, knowing glances meant nothing to you, just people you had to unfortunately share a space with in the slowly diminishing hope that you'd find him again.

The first two days after you'd bedded the Hound, your belly had ached in a way you'd never known: endless, unceasing pain deep under your skin. You had thought it was your blood, but no. Then you truly feared: What if he had actually hurt you with his massive shaft and bruising thrusts? He was quite a beast of a man after all- but the pain abated before you were scared enough to call a Maester.

On the fourth night, once your body had stopped its agonizing celebration. You had been unable to sleep, an innocent little flaw that happens to all people. You decided to take matters into your own hands. Sought the age-old relief that brought sweet drowsiness. But you couldn't. Hours of chasing that wet heat, following your dark fantasies. Nothing. Even thinking of the most mind-bending orgasm you'd ever felt- that from only four days earlier- was hollow pleasure, sparking the need in your veins, but you just couldn't find the end.

And you had written that off: one night. Happened to all men, why not you? Perhaps you were still sore from the Hound's rough attentions, or too tired to get yourself off properly. Maybe your blood was soon and your traitorous body was uncooperative. But no: the next night you found yourself in the same place: hot, wet, and aching for release. And the next night, and the night after that.

The Hound had _broken_ you. And you needed _more._

So, you'd found yourself in the same dreary tavern for the third night, hoping he'd return here- but he hadn't shown. What the fuck else could you do? Sit and hope that maybe tonight you would be successful? You drowned the last mug of ale, the alcohol heavy and warm in your belly, and left some coppers on the table.

You knew little useful information about the Hound, other than his time was split between guarding the boy King and drinking heavily. You'd already tried the latter. You swallowed your fear and headed uptown.

The Red Keep was gorgeous, if you could guess from the outside. You weren't anyone special. You'd never had the pleasure- or misfortune, now- to attend any King's meetings inside. But you didn't need to get inside. One white cloak was all you needed, and hope that the Hound wasn't too inconspicuous or actually guarding.

The first royal guard you approached, just a single man standing at an outer door, did perfectly. You straightened you back, spoke with as much clarity as you could muster and dared him to question your so obviously important motives. Why else would anyone dare to ask for such a frightening man?

"Ser, I need to speak with the Hound. Where is he?"

The guard looked down to you, one dark eyebrow raising slowly under his helm. Your confidence flagged- but the guard smirked. Alarm flared in you-- but the guard answered. "Check the taverns near the western districts. If you wait he should be stumbling back soon." No love for Clegane, if you had to guess. You almost felt bad; he clearly thought you were going to be some inconvenience at best.

You swallowed hard. Maybe you would be.

You gave a fast bow in thanks and headed off. If you were not such a welcome guest to the Hound, this would be a short endeavor. Maybe his being drunk again would work to your advantage, he had been fairly inebriated when you had coaxed him into your bed before.

The thought alone had your cheeks warming. Even with the possibility of death over your head, it was still too shameful to ignore. Seeking out a man you'd only bed once just so you could get fucked again because you somehow couldn't even finish yourself?

You smelled him before you saw him. The thick, lingering scent of hard liquor wafting through the paved walkways, the sound of heavy footfalls on the stone and there! A silhouette in the moonlight, much too large to be mistakable as anyone else, wavering.

His sight alone had your pace increasing, the first whisper of excitement in your blood. Without thinking-- "Hound!"

One thick arm swung out- something went flying. You flinched as glass shattered along the wall, pieces scattering and dancing all the way down the street to the stones to your feet. "What," He slurred heavily, his voice carried in the darkness, "the absolute fuck do you want?"

Your heart stopped in your chest; your plan shattered. Maybe his drinking wasn't a good thing. Had you just had a lucky evening of him humoring you? You started to backpedal- but he pursued. Each cautious step back was matched with his long strides. He had your scent now, and like any good dog, he followed. Heavy footsteps echoed off the stone, the repeated _clink, clink_ of his armor coming closer, his massive form nearing until- your foot caught on an uneven stone, you stumble backwards, catching yourself with your palms on the stones. Your hands burned, but you had no time to inspect them.

He stood over you, impossibly tall from the angle, reeking of stale Eastern liquors and something metallic- you swallow thickly. You can see it, nearly level with it: a red-brown stain splattered across his white cloak, and there, blood dried onto his boots. The rust brown even deeply set in the crevices of his chain mail, just barely hanging above your eyes at his sides. And at his hip: a red discoloration to the hilt of his sword.

The words left your throat, any speech fleeing from your mind- he'd killed someone today. He was drunk, and he'd already murdered someone. Terror settled in your chest, completely frozen at his feet.

He stared at you, drunkenly trying to parse your face. Would it be better or worse if he recognized you? Maybe he'd just dismiss you- But, oh. A twisted, broken smile curled across his ruined face, his scarred cheek twitching as he bared his teeth. "Still scared of me, lover?"

You heart pounded against your rib cage, a perverted arousal warming the ice in your veins just at his pet name for you. This was what you wanted, after all.

His devious enjoyment shifted, his eyes turning cold and hard. He dropped to a crouch over you, the motion making you squeak in fear. "Why are you here?" He growled, a dark rumble from his chest. "Come to complain about a bastard? Demand some bloody marriage so you don’t have to explain you’re nothing but a whore?” 

Your cheeks burned, shame and rage joining the odd mixture of fear and arousal already vying for control. You couldn't meet his eyes, settled for where his neck met his gorget. "No."

He lingered for a moment, but you couldn't bring yourself to look up to him. He sighed then, and the Hound sat back on his heels, licked his lips, and wished he hadn't broken the bottle. "Then what? Why are you bothering this old dog?"

You still didn't know what to say, your hands shaking at your sides. You'd been pleasantly inebriated before, but seeing him loom over you with bloodstains on his sword had sobered you up quickly. You fought for the words that just wouldn't come, each semblance of an idea draining in time with the Hound's patience. "I..."

"You," His gauntleted hand wrapped around your arm, the edges of the metal biting through the cloth of your tunic, and dragged you up to your feet. You caught yourself- one hand spreading wide over his armor. A tiny noise left your throat in shock, yours eyes pinched closed in for the forthcoming strike-- The anger bloomed again in his eyes, he pushed you to the stone wall, forced your chin up. "Look at me. Look at what you bedded!"

You did. It's so dark, but you can see the glint of his gray eyes in the moonlight. He's just as he was before, seething with anger, scarred. Dangerous. A need sparked deep inside- you wanted him. Your other hand found his body as well- landing on his side, just above his hip and clutching desperately. The need burning in your veins making it hard to breathe pressed so close to him; your lips parted in drew in his scent. Alcohol dominated it, but his musk underneath was more intoxicating than the ale you'd had earlier. You pressed your thighs together, wishing the burning desire would ebb.

The hand that had held your arm slipped down to the small of your back and drew you closer to him. His wide thigh caught between your legs- the pressure made you tremble in his arms, your hips moving against him of their own will.

The heat in his eyes changed. His grasp on you changed, wrapping tight around your arm again and he was nearly dragging you down the path. You stumbled after him, unable to keep up with his long legs. At least him taking you anywhere was a good sign. If he wanted to kill you after all he could do it anywhere.

A darkened side alleyway, nearly so narrow his broad shoulders can't fit with his armor on. But it's just wide enough. Thrill shoots through you- that he'd fuck you out here, so near the market, even if it was nearly pitch black.

With his one hand around your arm, he threw you down. Your palms sting again, joined this time by your knees, and for a moment you do fear. But then there's a heavy clang of metal being dropped, once, then again. He dropped to his knees behind you, his big hands, sans gauntlets, curled around your waist easily as he pulls you back, presses your needy cunt against him through your clothes. You whine, your fingernails scratching at the stones because, gods, he's already hard.

"Is this it, lover?" He rumbled cruelly from somewhere behind you. His hands guided your hips as he ground against you. The cold metal of his armor pressed to your back, hot breath and the scent of alcohol rolling over you again. "You're so desperate to be the Hound's bitch you couldn't get me out of your head? Had to come begging to get fucked again?"

You whined, trembling again. He separated from you just enough to slide your trousers down, hardly bothering with the ties, your ass exposed to the cold night air. His warm hand slides down over the curve of your ass, his thumb sliding between your lips. It's embarrassingly easy; several days of trying with no relief had left you achingly wet, a deep-set frustration that you couldn't shake from your body.

His thumb stilled, gently pulling your lips apart. He leaned away- the metal tip of his sword's sheath clicking on the stone. Your cheeks burned: he was looking at you. Could he see how he'd made you ache for days after, how he'd changed something deep inside you? The thought made you shiver, drop your head in shame. But- you heard it, the slow, pained exhale behind you. His finger began sliding again, slipping through your arousal, dragging it down to rub smoothly against your clit. His voice is almost something like softness, but not quite reaching it: "This wet just for an old dog?"

You nodded as hard as you could, pressed back against his hand.

"Alright, lover," And you could nearly believe his pet name- "I'll take care of you."

With his other hand on your hip, he kept you where he wanted you. He pulled more of your wetness over your sex, exploring you and gliding easily over your folds. The rough calloused touch of his hands on you made you weak, melting easily into his easy attempts to bring you relief. You sobbed out, pleading deafly, "Please, I need it..."

Behind you, he watched- ravenously taking in everything of your tiny, shaking form. He could break you so easily- nearly had, if he had been any more drunk. He swore, felt his cock grow harder in his trousers, but here you were: giving yourself to him so readily, begging so sweetly for him, doing your best to meet each of his movements. He knew well enough you weren't some highborn who had to care about chastity, but there's just enough of a stutter in your hips, the way your breath catches- he can't quite tell what it is. Were you that inexperienced or really so in need of him? Or was it just the drink making him lose himself again?

Against your cries, he withdrew his thumb- and for the first time, tasted you. He almost regretted not taking the time before; your sweet tang coated his tongue easier than any wine he'd had in the young king's court. But the scrabbling of your fingernails on the stone pathway and the soft, pitiful whining from your mouth kept him on track.

Neither of you would have the patience for him to fight through his armor again- and that was fine enough by him. It took so little effort to push his trousers down, and free his cock.

One large hand touched the center of your back, nearly reaching all the way across- and he pushed. You were too far gone to bother complaining- as long as he gave you the release you'd been chasing for days, you didn't much care how he took you. You obeyed, lowered your front, the cool stone chilling your chest- until only your ass was left in the air. 

You felt it- the glorious, cursed length against your thigh- and you did cry, waves of hot desire making your abdomen hurt. With only your hot cunt to guide him, he pressed up against your body again- his cock slipped down, over your clit. He muttered something lowly, the hand on your hip moving behind you and he pressed forward again- this time, pushing all the way in, filling you up as you'd imagined.

It was immediate. Days of unending torture, your body held taut in desire, the one string holding you back snapped. A warm hand clamped tight over your mouth and you sobbed into it. You writhed, trapped and helpless under him, his hand on your shoulder unmoving, keeping you pinned down into the dirt- barely letting you fuck yourself on his cock in short, heedless thrusts. Curses were slipping from his lips, deep and slurred- "Fucking tight little bitch-" one after another as your cunt clenched hard around him, hot and wet and so inviting to just fuck you hard and fast and find his own pleasure.

Sandor grit his teeth, breathed in deep. Even with your enthusiasm, he was not about to accept that he could cum from barely touching a cunt, like some whelp taken to a whore house the first time. He did not at all focus on the repetitive waves of pleasure cascading over you, the same ones he'd seen last time he'd fucked you. The ones making you gasp and cry out into his hand. And definitely not thinking about how your sweet, delicate cunt was trying its damnedest to milk him dry.

Against it all, your tremors slowed, your body began to relax, pliant and loose. Almost dazed, the sound of laughter was out of place- low and dark and rumbling. "Never seen anyone cum like that before." He pulled his hand off your mouth, a thin string of saliva connecting you for a quick moment. He wiped his brow, pushing his hair out of his face. He leaned over again, bent in half to meet you at the ground. His hot breath danced over your ear. "Why don't we go for two, lover?"

You moaned, nodded as best you could with your face sideways in the dirt.

Sandor drew his hips back- the burning drag along your walls made you hiss, gathered more heat in your belly. You expected the same tortuous pace he'd started you with before, making sure you could even begin to handle his cock- but somewhere between the liquor and the Hound's thin-stretched self control, he'd lost that impulse. He slammed his cock back into you- a heavy downward stab that made your back arch.

He fucked you, driving his shaft in again and again. Once more, there's a pressure, just behind your belly, where his cock ends pressed into your body, forcing you to accommodate his ample length. It'll hurt again tomorrow, you're sure of it, the deep ache inside you that nothing helped. But now it doesn't hurt, _now_ it feels amazing, knowing he's inside you, holding you down and fucking you. Feeling each thrust of his hips in time with the grunts at your ear, the cold press of his armor to your ass, each in time with the deep, radiating pleasure.

"Sandor..." you sighed, the noise cut short to a squeak- his next thrust so powerful your cheek scraped on the stone.

He huffed, voice so quiet and still slurred, you almost missed it over the clanging of his armor and the wet sound of your cunt, "Never had anyone come back,"

You moaned quietly- but, fuck, how could they not? His cock is hot and thick, splitting you open like you were made for him, like every other one in the whole world was some toy, a silly imitation. He sunk into you again, your body lit afire around him, aching for each motion.

"Sandor," It came out a whine, a plea to some great power to free you- your body burning and so full, but not quite there-

"Fuck," There's a strain to his voice- "Say it again."

"Sandor, please," Your hips raised to him, driving back into each of his thrusts-

He gasped, curled over you to press his forehead to your shoulder blade. "What do you need?" His pace slowed, barely keeping himself together- praying to whatever good was left in the world to let him last just long enough.

"Touch me,"

"How?"

You grabbed at his hand- the one holding your shoulder down to the stones and pushed it down between your legs. His finger stroked awkwardly- bumping against your clit unevenly. You whined, raised your hips again and grabbed at his hand once more- guiding his fingers. Tight circles, yes- just there, making your body sing for his touch. And oh, he's a fast learner for an old dog, his callouses catching deliciously, stoking the fire until-

You cried out, tightened around his cock until he thought you might break him- but all logic is fleeing fast and damn it, even if you did break him, he'd had the best damn lay of his life- and he's groaning, his free hand dragging bright red scratches into your side. Distantly, he heard himself talking, his lips and stubble scraping against your shoulder. "Good little cunt, cum for me, just like that,"

Your ecstasy faded off, lingering pleasantly at your joining. Sandor's weight fell nearly entirely upon you before he could catch himself. It should've been uncomfortable, all cold metal, rivets and heavy armor and his warm breath soothing on your back, his cock still plump and held inside your body, keeping you full and contented. It wouldn't be hard to imagine living like this- safe under Sandor's huge body, hidden under his armor, all too aware he would fight and kill for you.

But the Hound shifted, and your fantasy fizzled out, left in the dirty walkway with the cum dripping from your joining. He fell back on his heels, still panting.

You heard, somewhere behind you, the ties to his pants being rethreaded and pulled together. Would he just leave again? You wait there, unsure if he's finished with you and fine enough to just sit and enjoy the remnants of your peak making you feel heavy and sleep. The clattering of gauntlets being picked up again makes you push yourself up onto your hands again. You aren't sure you can stand- the gentle ache in your belly returning in waves.

But your trousers were being lifted, pulled back up, covering your cold rear. "Let's go, lover." Your mind was too hazy to fight as Sandor pulled you up- up to your knees and falling back against his chest. You hold onto his fore arms, all too aware you were too weak to do much else. It was just like how he'd taken you before- but this time he's tying your trousers, peering over your shoulder, tightening them half-blindly. His fingers- no gauntlets in sight- were gentle. He could've just yanked the ties, knotted them and been done.

You don't dare to consider why the Hound is being kind to you, your mind too frayed to consider. But he helped you stand. Your body was heavy and limp and heedless to your commands, so Sandor lifted you with ease, as though you were the one so drunk you could barely walk. At his belt, his gauntlets are tied, jangling with each step as the Hound nearly carried back through the streets.

You peered up at him, stumbling along with his long strides. You're at his scarred side. You'd seen it the first night, but he'd lurked in the darkened corners of the tavern. Even now, the moon offers little information, but you kept looking, trying to decipher what you could. He turned to you- you should've felt fear or shame for staring, but you're still so pliant and empty, you held his gaze.

Sadness. The realization hit you like an arrow; you're breathless for a moment, stunned in his arms. That's what it is, lurking behind his dark eyes. The quiet murmuring in his voice. Why? 

He scowled and walked faster, your legs desperately trying to keep up. If he'd noticed your lingering gaze, he gave no further sign. Eventually, your eyes fell back to the stones in front of you.

Your meager home came sooner than you wanted. He disentangled himself from you, holding onto your hip until he was sure you could stand without him. You met Sandor's eyes again, chased the pain hidden behind his scarred visage. You were almost disappointed. He's guarded again; you found nothing but the simmering rage resurfacing.

"Thank you." You offered. Maybe if he would come in, speak with you-

But Sandor only grunted, averted his eyes, and headed back uptown.


End file.
